


Helping Hands

by CaveFelem



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dorms, Hand Jobs, Healing, Injury, M/M, Mages, Magic, Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaveFelem/pseuds/CaveFelem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Skyrim Kink Meme prompt "Either Onmund or Marcurio find that they get really excited whenever the Dragonborn uses the Healing Hands spell on them. Smut ensues." I chose to go with Onmund.</p><p>Minor warning: Burn injuries mentioned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hands

It must have been well past midnight when the creaking of the doors woke Rodyrick up. He had always been a light sleeper, and was still not used to lodging in the Hall of Attainment with several other people. Thankfully, most of the residents usually kept fairly regular hours, and those that didn't knew how to move quietly.

Whoever was up and about now seemed to be trying and failing. Rodyrick heard a clank, a groan of pain, and a whispered curse.

He got out of bed and peeked through the doorway. The noisemaker was a tall, hooded figure, slumped against the wall and shaking.

”Hey?” Rodyrick whispered. ”What's going on?”

The figure turned, and Rodyrick recognized Onmund.

”Hush”, the Nord hissed. Even in the dim hall, Rodyrick could see Onmund's face was not merely pale, but a pasty white. ”Don't wake anyone. Just... help me to my room.”

Supporting Onmund by the waist, the Nord's arm draped limply over his shoulder, Rodyrick half dragged the stumbling man to his room. Onmund collapsed on a chair and drew a deep, shuddery breath. His bottom lip was freshly bruised, and Rodyrick realized he must have been biting it in order to keep quiet.

”Get me the red bottle... a healing potion... the end table on the other side.”

Rodyrick nodded and climbed over the bed as the quickest way to reach the end table. Almost right away, his hand reached the requested red bottle.

”What happened?” he whispered while uncorking it and handing it to Onmund. ”Wait, don't answer. Drink first.”

”I...” Onmund turned his gaze down. ”Help me just a bit more, please.” He made a helpless motion with his hands, and Rodyrick felt a sick lurch in his stomach as he saw the palms and wrists were blistered and burned. Deftly, he raised the bottle to Onmund's lips and tilted it, watched Onmund's lips part and his throat work as he swallowed the potion in large gulps.

In any other situation, Rodyrick would have found the sight very arousing indeed. He'd always swung both ways, eager for pleasure wherever it could be had, and of all the students in his group, the Nord was the unquestionable cream of the crop. Ever since Rodyrick had helped him out with the whole messy amulet business (hey, when did a Breton ever refuse a quest, especially if something could be gained by it?), Onmund's attitude had changed from neutral to distinctly warm. It could have been just friendliness... or it could have been more.

In any other situation, this could have been a good opportunity to find out.

Now, though, Rodyrick found himself more concerned than aroused. He set the bottle down and carefully pulled up Onmund's robe sleeve. Onmund's trembling had subsided and his face was getting some of its normal color back as the potion did its work, but it seemed to have little effect on the burns that extended all the way past the crook of his elbow. Some of the blisters were as large as the tip of a thumb. Judging by the state of the man's palms, Rodyrick had no doubt the other arm would bear similar marks.

”It was that stupid scroll”, Onmund muttered. ”I promised I'd try out some new scrolls J'zargo had made... should have known better. He did say they were experimental, but I figured...”

”Ssh. Try to relax. I'll fix you right up.” The spell was already building up, filling Rodyrick with its familiar tingly pressure that demanded to be let out through his palms. He rolled up Onmund's other sleeve as well, exposing another swollen and blistered arm, and set to work.

He had always had a knack for the Restoration school. As he moved his palms, honey-gold light bathed Onmund, and the blisters began to shrink and the swelling fade as the damage became undone.

”Nngh”, Onmund groaned. ”Feels better already.”

His head had lolled back and his eyes fallen closed. The poor man was probably shaken and exhausted. Rodyrick willed the stream of magicka to flow with more force and was rewarded by the last of the blisters melting away and a warm flush appearing on Onmund's cheeks. Goodness, he could almost imagine it was more than just a tinge of health. He let himself have the thought with a jolt of guilty pleasure. _Lecherous thoughts about a patient you're healing. Congratulations, me, you've sunk to a new low._

Onmund groaned again, which did not help the lecherous thought situation any.

”More”, he demanded in a throaty whisper. His eyes opened halfway, and Rodyrick fancied the slivers of blue he could see had darkened to mountain pools and thunderclouds. ”Don't stop.”

”It's almost done”, he whispered back. He could feel his magicka reserves dwindling, as if something inside him was hollowing out. Just a little bit more attention to soothing the redness, and then he let the light fade and withdraw into himself and took a deep breath.

He started to pull back, but Onmund's now healed hand darted out and grasped him by the wrist with ferocity.

”Don't stop”, he repeated, yanking the slender Breton towards himself with the element of surprise on his side. Then, startled, he glanced down at the hand which had done the instinctive motion, released his grip, flexed the fingers and found everything already whole.

”Onmund? Are you alright?”

”You tell me. What spell was that?”

”Healing Hands”, Rodyrick assured him, brows knit together in confusion. The burns had healed as expected, but something else must have happened as well, something that caused this... erratic... behavior. ”What else? I thought you knew Restoration yourself.”

”Right. Healing Hands. Shor's balls, Rodyrick, what did you _do_ to me? You could have just...” He moistened his lips and seemed to search for words. ”You could have told me.”

”Told you what?”

In response, Onmund rose from the chair. Rodyrick's imagination had no time to start into full gallop before he was graced with the real thing, Onmund's body pressed against his in a forceful embrace that left no doubt about the Nord's arousal. The evidence of it was hard against Rodyrick's stomach and hot even through the robes.

”That you wanted this.” The words were muttered almost mouth to mouth, a breath's width away from a kiss. ”So badly that you had to use tricks.”

”But I –”, Rodyrick started, but that was as far as he got. He was being crushed against a firm male body that promised to be well built indeed under the robe. Even better, this extremely desirable body was inhabited by a very eager Onmund. Why exactly was he protesting this?

He glanced over his shoulder at the doorway of the little chamber. It was still quiet in the hall, no sign that Onmund's moaning and groaning or the glow of the spell-light had alerted anyone.

Still, it would be wise to keep his mouth occupied, in case he was a loud type in general.

Onmund turned out to be a slightly awkward kisser, but what his tongue lacked in agility, Rodyrick could make up for. The scrape of the barely-there stubble on the other mage's face was divine, as were the shudders and the involuntary thrusts of his hips. Rodyrick was just as hard as him by now, and moved against him in return, desiring the friction and the shared feeling of urgency.

Somehow, while occupied by kissing, grabbing a feel of any part of each other within reach, and generally making like sabre cats in heat, Rodyrick managed to get the larger man pinned against the wall. Granted, Onmund had been distracted first by the spell and then by Rodyrick's right hand, which had wedged between them, bunched up the robe and wormed its way underneath. The loincloth was easily moved aside, and Rodyrick hummed in pleasure as he confirmed that Onmund was well built all over.

He stroked up and down the hard length a few times, then paused as he felt more than heard a word grunted into his hair.

”What?”

”Again. The spell.”

He had not exactly planned to use the spell again for this purpose, but then had he planned any of this to begin with? Besides, he relished being able to turn Onmund on so much, feeling him slick and swollen in his grip, and the temptation to push him even further was irresistible.

”Yes. Yes!” The Nord was already bucking against Rodyrick as he gathered the magicka in the middle of his left palm. He pressed it against the small of Onmund's back and released the energy, letting it flood warmth into skin, muscles and nerves.

The results were a pure delight to watch. Held between two focal points of stimulation, Onmund's body tensed and arched uncontrollably. His face contorted into a grimace and then a cry, thankfully mostly silent. Rodyrick fed more golden, throbbing warmth into his system, a burst of it to tilt him over the edge, and was rewarded by an answering thick burst of seed all over his hand and wrist.

Onmund leaned limply into him, panting. As Rodyrick allowed the spell to taper off, he became acutely conscious of how badly he needed release himself. There was little finesse in him grabbing himself through two layers of fabric, and even less in the few rough motions he needed to bring himself to finish. Some other time and place, he might have been embarrassed by spilling it so quickly and easily; this, though, was not one of them.

”Divines.” He felt the moisture of Onmund's breath against his ear. ”You're a mess.”

”So are you.”

”I'll just...” Onmund flashed a rare grin, then spread his arms, looking somewhat at a loss for what to say. ”You know, clean up. Sleep. So, er... thank you.”

”Sure”, Rodyrick muttered back. ”Any time.”

The grin widened, and Rodyrick found himself grinning back. He was still grinning as he flopped star-shaped on his bed, already happily reliving the encounter in his head.

Cleaning up could well wait until morning.

* * *

Rodyrick slept well and long, almost until noon, and the Hall was empty of people when he got up, cleaned and dressed. Upon stepping out, however, he nearly ran into a wall of fur and claws.

”Oh, J'zargo, sorry about that. I was just on my way to...” He made a motion in the general direction of Some Other Place.

”It is fine”, the Khajiit said. ”One is sure there is still food left for late sleepers.”

Was he imagining things or was there a sly glint in J'zargo's eyes?

”Khajiit has sharp ears”, J'zargo said with a conspiratorial whisper from under his hood, ”but also a deal for you.”

He stuck out his hand, and Rodyrick counted ten septims on his proffered palm.

”You will forget all about the misfiring scrolls... and the next time our friend gets hurt, J'zargo sponsors you a room for two at the inn.”


End file.
